handsome man’s smile fade into a grim line. ‘I’m an ombudsman.’
‘I see. That’s quite an impressive title.’ Jack’s steely tone conveyed the rest of the message to Ortiz. They both knew an ombudsman operated in a limited capacity. The title was honorary at best, a sop to one’s ego.
Ortiz’s dark eyes flashed dangerously. Jack answered with a cool smile. The man fully understood his allusion and had the good grace to be insulted. But the flare in his eyes suggested he did not have the good grace to be defeated. Ortiz would bear watching. His temper suggested he was a man quick to anger, quick to take impulsive actions that might later be regretted.
Dulci placed a hand on Jack’s sleeve. ‘It is time for that dance you promised me.’
Jack gave her easy compliance. There was no more to be gained from provoking Ortiz. He’d got what he came for. He’d taken the measure of the delegation and it was quite telling.
Chapter Two
Dulci’s announcement was immediately unpopular with everyone except Jack. ‘But the next waltz is mine,’ a rather dull-witted fellow, the Earl of Carstairs’s son, stepped forwards to protest.
The boy was not fast enough. Jack claimed indisputable possession, covering Dulci’s gloved hand on his sleeve with his own. ‘I’m sure Lady Dulcinea has something saved for you later.’
‘I have a country dance free in the fourth set.’ Dulci quickly offset the boy’s sour face.
‘Good choice,’ Jack remarked in low tones, leading her towards the dance floor. ‘Less conversational opportunities with a country dance. You’re probably doing him a favour. I doubt he has the requisite half-hour of conversation saved up to get through a waltz.’
‘I’m doing myself a favour.’ Dulci placed her hand on Jack’s shoulder as they positioned themselves. ‘The man’s got the brains and build of an ox. He stepped on my feet no less than five times last week at the Balfour ball.’
‘Here I thought you were protecting Ortiz when in reality you were angling for a dance with me.’
‘Don’t flatter yourself. I’m not desperate to dance with you like the other women in the ballroom.’
‘They want more than dancing from me, I assure you. You noticed my following? It is quite considerable.’
Dulci blushed as he intended.
‘What? There’s nothing wrong with the words “following” or “considerable”.’ Jack feigned ignorance of his innuendo.
‘Except when you say them. I can’t say I have noticed your “following”, but I’ve noticed you’re still as conceited as I remember in the orangery.’
Jack laughed at Dulci’s pique, the familiar longings starting to stir. He was enjoying this: his hand at her back, the warmth of her body through the thin silk of her gown, his mind taking pleasure in the mental exercise of parrying her comments.
‘It’s the truth.’ Jack swung them into the opening patterns of the waltz. He was starting to wonder if his emotional distance could be challenged tonight. He’d like nothing more than to try his luck at stealing a few kisses.
‘That all women are dying of love for you?’
‘No need to be envious. It’s not as if you don’t have the other half of London at your feet.’ Jack shot a look at the jilted heir on the sidelines. ‘I would have thought women found him rather handsome. He’s tall, muscular in a beefy sort of way. Quite the pride of English manhood.’
‘It will all run to fat in ten years,’ Dulci said matter of factly. ‘I prefer a leaner sort of man. Big men don’t tend to dance well.’
‘Your brother’s tall,’ Jack argued for the sake of disagreement. With Dulci, anything was fair game for an argument. ‘The ladies love dancing with him whenever Nora gives them a chance.’
‘Brandon’s an exception.’
‘Speaking of Brandon, I had a note from your brother a month ago. He and Nora are doing well.’ Brandon was the one safe topic of conversation they had between them. ‘I gathered they aren’t coming up to town because of the new baby.’
‘No, they won’t be coming up. It’s to be expected. They are the most doting of parents.’ A small smile played across Dulci’s lips at the mention of her new nephew, giving her features a rare soft look. It occurred to Jack that Dulci’s long-standing reign as an Incomparable might indeed be a lonely one. The girlfriends who had débuted with her eight years ago would have long since married and started their own families. He had not thought of it in that way before—a price to be paid for her determination to remain unattached. Much in the same way he paid for the lifestyle he achieved. It had been quite unintentional on his part. Was that true for her as well?
It was also a stark reminder that he didn’t know Dulci Wycroft all that well, all the ways she’d changed in the years of his absence. She’d come of age and entered society while he’d been off performing the various commissions that had eventually landed him his viscountcy.
Much of his adult life had been spent away from England doing things for the empire he couldn’t share with another. The result was that he knew very little about the woman she’d become. Good God, when he’d left England she’d been sixteen, and he a mere twenty-four. Those intervening years were a blank. He knew only that her beauty, her wit, her innate fire for life and the wild side she strove to keep hidden drew him irrevocably despite his better intentions. Jack didn’t dare contemplate too deeply the reasons for his inexplicable attraction. Those reasons were best left unexplored for fear of uncovering longings and truths that couldn’t be answered or tolerated. He could not afford to fall in love with anyone, especially not Dulci. He’d have a hard time explaining that to Brandon.
Dulci cocked her head, studying him with her sharp gaze. ‘What are you up to tonight, Jack? It must be important if it meant seeking me out. For the record, I was not fooled about your reasons for approaching me. You wanted that introduction.’
Jack executed a tight turn to avoid a collision with the less observant Earl of Hertfordshire. ‘Do I have to be up to anything? Perhaps I just wanted to dance with the loveliest girl in the room?’
‘Doubtful. The last time you saw me, I broke a pottery bowl over your head.’ Dulci’s eyes narrowed in speculation. ‘You won’t tell me what you’re really doing here, will you?’ she accused.
This was old ground. Old ground, old wound. It went beyond the quarrel in the orangery. He’d had this discussion before with other women. He was not at liberty to discuss his business with her or with anyone else. It was rather ironic that while achieving a title had made him socially acceptable and available, he was not at liberty to act on that availability. A woman was only entitled to part of him. The Crown got the other part without question or consideration.
Such a condition was not acceptable with Dulci. Her unattached status was proof of that. If she tolerated half-measures, she would have settled for a convenient tonnish marriage by now. But half-measures were all he could give. What he did for the king was of the utmost secrecy and not necessarily ‘appreciated’ in finer circles. He knew in the absence of such disclosures on his part that Dulci had her own theories about his actions, none of which showed him in a favourable
